They come before brothers." "But not before self-respect," she said very quietly.

She put her arm around his neck and pressed her cheek against his.

"Arthur--dear--dear--" she murmured, "please don't talk or think about this any more.
It--it--hurts." And there were hot tears in her eyes, and at her heart a sense of sickness and of fright; for his presentation of the other side of the case made her afraid of what she might do, or be tempted to do, in the circumstances he pictured.

She knew she wouldn't--at least, not so long as she remained the person she then was.

But how long would that be?
How many years of association with her new sort of friends--with the sort Ross had long been--with the sort she was becoming more and more like--how many, or, rather, how few years would it take to complete the process of making her over into a person who would do precisely what Arthur had pictured?
Arthur had said a great deal more than he intended--more, even, than he believed true.